


Illuminating

by winternacht



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Altar Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, mild blood kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: Jon has taken to isolating himself from the Eye. But Elias knows how to change his mind.





	Illuminating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earnshaws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnshaws/gifts).



Every step down the tunnels took Jon further away from the Eye’s burning gaze. It was better that way. At least he tried to convince himself that it was, no matter how much he loathed the place – the barrenness of it compared to the Institute above. He was almost looking forward to that revitalising first step back into the Archives, that feeling of belonging, of being connected to a purpose. The constant trickle of knowledge that tempted him to throw the door wide open.

But he could not let that happen. He had to resist the pull of the Ceaseless Watcher, trying to guide him further along a path that led to a destination he was hesitant to even consider. The Rite of the Watcher’s Crown. It was something he should want, something he should work towards, and no matter how aware he was of the fact that refusal was the right choice, it was a choice he had to make every day. And every night, when he once again fell into the Eye, feeling whole, feeling so right, he found himself wavering.

But he was nothing if not a stubborn man. And sleeping in the tunnels at least felt like a good idea. Close enough to the Institute and the others that he could return quickly in case of danger. Distant enough from the Eye– if not in his dreams then at least in his waking – to numb the desire to give himself over to it fully.

He’d nearly arrived at his makeshift accommodation. Nothing but a cot and a change of clothes, and enough blankets to stave off the cold that permeated every inch of the place. A second torch, in case the one he was currently holding gave out. Everything else, he kept in the Archives. There was just another corner to round, and-

The light beam hit a wall, barely a couple of steps away, sealing off the passage. The torch almost fell out of his hand as Jon tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing, and before he could have stopped himself, he called out, “Basira, Melanie? Daisy?”

The only response was he got was his own voice thrown back at him. And then-

Steps. A light-source moving closer from the side that had been solid brickwork just moments ago, illuminating a familiar face.

Jon took a step back. “Elias.”

Elias let the book in his hand snap shut before looking at Jon and greeting him by name. Even here, in the tunnels, where his powers were supposed to be dulled, Jon felt trapped in his gaze, constricted by it in a way that made it hard to breathe. He pressed his lips together, hoping it would hide his reaction as Elias moved closer.

Elias hadn’t changed much. But his face seemed thinner, somewhat, or perhaps it was the angle at which the light hit his face that made his cheekbones stand out more than Jon remembered. Made the shadows beneath his eyes look deeper, too. Even his smile had changed, nothing like the bland thing that made it difficult to discern what he was truly thinking and feeling. Jon wanted to say it was sharper, more menacing. Perhaps it was. But there was something different there, too, something he was afraid to explore, and so he kept edging back until he hit a wall. There had been no wall before.

“Elias, what-“ His gaze dropped to the book he was holding. The binding was familiar.

“ _The Seven Lamps of Architecture_ ,” Elias said just as the realisation hit Jon. “Certainly one of the more useful tomes Leitner gathered. It’s lucky I got to meet him, after all, otherwise-“

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked forcefully. It was the first time he had compelled anyone in ages, and even down here, so far away from the Eye, it filled him with a rush of ecstasy. Elias inhaled sharply, and then exhaled with a smile. He let a few seconds pass before answering.

“I wanted to see you.”

Jon huffed out a laugh that was more bitter than intended. After everything he’d put him through. After months of refusing his visits. Elias’ expression remained unchanged, and Jon felt like he had given away something he shouldn’t have. He hid behind a scowl.

“Not satisfied with my answer?” Elias asked. Jon’s scowl deepened with genuine exasperation. “Fine. There’s something I’m looking for in the tunnels. Something I’m sure might be of interest for you as well.”

“I’m not interested.”

“In that case, you’re free to leave. The exit is just this way.” Elias motioned towards the darkness. “Of course, you’ll have to walk for a while, but you’ll get there eventually.”

When Jon didn’t move, Elias turned his back to him. Started walking.

“What are you l-“

“No more distractions, Jon,” Elias said firmly and stopped. He tapped against the book impatiently. “If you could come here now?

Jon stepped closer towards him. He wasn’t sure entirely how close he needed to get. An armlength. Or perhaps closer still.

Elias waited until Jon was standing firmly in his personal space before finally continuing down the path he had created. “Don’t fall behind.”

Jon tried to stay close, but he couldn’t quite resist looking around, letting his torch light pass over solid ground and walls that were more even than he’d expected. Still, there were parts where the brickwork did not quite seem to match, oddly cut off. Had Elias changed these tunnels? Or had it been Leitner’s attempts at fixing them, as he’d claimed?

Numerous questions burned on Jon’s tongue. Why the sudden interest in the tunnels? Why had Elias sought him out down here and not in the Institute? Had he even been there after being released from prison? If he’d even been released…

But he dared not ask any of them now. He remembered what Leitner had said about the book. The not-them’s scream was still ringing in his ears. And with every turn Elias took, every path he chose when the one they were on split, Jon grew less confident in his ability to find his way back on his own if need be. He cursed himself for not bringing a piece of chalk, about his foolish assumption that he was already familiar enough with the tunnels.

Jon nearly walked into Elias when he stopped abruptly for the first time in what felt like an hour. There was nothing unusual about the wall he was facing, at least not to Jon’s eyes. No oddities, no markings… He wondered if Elias was seeing something else. Or if he simply knew that though the path continued, it was not the one they were meant to take. From behind, he watched as Elias opened the book, holding it away from Jon’s line of sight, and began turning the pages, a hypnotic rustle of paper Jon did not dare to interrupt. Then Elias finally looked down.

“ _And all were coming forth in clusters crowded for very fear; there never was room enough for all, but they crushed their bodies into all manner of strange shapes only to be nearer each other.”_

The walls were shifting as he spoke, without sound, without any stone splintering off, revealing a new path. The right path, Jon knew, though he had no idea where it would lead.  

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Elias asked. “That this is where we need to go.”

“There’s no need to read the passages out loud,” Jon muttered instead of answering, following Elias as he continued walking, turning right at a fork they soon encountered.

Elias chuckled. “Aren’t you curious about what’s in the book?”

“I-I…” Of course he was. During his stay at Georgie’s, he’d read the entire book online. Wondering how Leitner’s version differed from it. How it could be it was created before the original had even been written. Had it inspired Ruskin’s work? He sighed. “I am.”

“Yes, I thought you would be.” Entirely too smug, but Jon couldn’t be too angry when Elias continued. “The ‘seven lamps’ outlined in this book, are, of course, not the ones Ruskin described himself. Instead, each lamp represents contrasting fears. Like the Buried and the Vast. I should note that the books follows Smirke’s notion of fourteen fears, rather than the more common conception of thirteen fears at the time. If it didn’t obviously serve the Buried’s needs, I’d be inclined to believe he created it himself. But more likely perhaps-“

“George Gilbert Scott.”

“Exactly, Jon,” he said, and Jon could feel the corners of his mouth twitch slightly at the way he said his name, a smile that shouldn’t be. He was glad Elias couldn’t see it. “Though we still don’t know how, precisely, a human can be involved in the creation of one of the books. Leitner didn’t know either, but then again, this was hardly a venue he was interested in exploring. In any case…”

This time, Jon actually did bump into Elias when he abruptly stood. Close enough, for a moment, that he could smell his cologne, a subtle, woodsy scent, before he jumped back. Elias seemed utterly unbothered by it all, rifling through the book again. To keep himself from even trying to catch a glimpse, Jon took a closer look at the wall instead. Yellow bricks rather than the usual red ones.

“This must have been part of Millbank Prison.”

“Of its foundation, at least,” Elias said. He stopped on a page and read aloud again.

“ _But of them, and their life, and their toil upon the earth, one evidence, is left to us in those grey heaps of sorrow-wrought stone. They have taken with them to the grave their powers, their anguish, and their errors; but they have left us their fear._ ”

The moment the walls opened, a sense of unease overcame Jon. A feeling of loss, of abandonment, of being utterly alone, choking in its intensity. He started when Elias’ hand closed around his wrist, as if, for a couple of seconds, he’d forgotten his presence. Unthinkingly, Jon grasped Elias’ wrist in turn.

“Don’t let go,” Elias said, his voice quiet and serious.

The tunnel couldn’t have been too long.  From where Jon was standing, he could see the tunnel turn at an obtuse angle after a couple of metres. And yet, every step they took inside filled him with dread anew, and every instinct he had screamed at him to run. He would have if it hadn’t meant letting go of Elias. The exit was behind him, it should have been, at least, but he could not shake the feeling that if he released Elias’ wrist, he would find himself lost. So he held on tighter, shivering as the cold crept up his veins.

He was glad, at least, that Elias was walking in front of him, the tunnel too narrow for them to walk side by side. That way, he could at least see him. And if nothing else, these days, he could rely on his eyes not to play any tricks on him. Though he dearly wished the fog rising in front of them was just a trick. That there were no icy droplets slowly seeping through his clothes, freezing against his skin.

Elias stopped and squeezed his wrist. “Hold your torch over my shoulder,” he instructed, his own dangling on a band around the hand he was holding the book in. Jon did, leaning against Elias' back, closing his eyes this time. Simply taking in his presence, even though the fabric of his suit jacket was cold like dead stone against his cheek. But he could feel him move, feel him breathe, and that had to be enough.

There was a gust of air, and Elias pulled him along, Jon stumbling after him with stiff legs. The fog was starting to dissipate, the pressing sensation of isolation was fading, but Jon wasn’t willing to let go just yet. Relieved that Elias was still holding on to him as well.

“That tunnel was the domain of the isolation,” Elias explained. “There are eleven more such tunnels, with two forming each of the six pentagons. Which means this tunnel was connected to the Corruption’s domain. The area they enclose is neutral ground. In theory.”

“Right,” Jon muttered. Trying to remember exactly where they were right now, to avoid going back the wrong way. But as he looked around, he was surprised at how large the area was – high ceilings rather than narrow passages. He let Elias guide him further along.  

“But if there are only twelve tunnels…”

“As I said, Smirke’s belief that there are fourteen fears was rather revolutionary at the time. This place was originally designed with thirteen fears in mind.”

“Twelve tunnels,” Jon mused out loud. “And…” His torch fell onto a curved wall, just ahead. “Oh.”

“And a central tower, from which all of them can be watched,” Elias finished for him. He spoke slowly, more than just a hint of reverence in his tone, sending a shudder down his spine. It wasn’t unpleasant. “We’re here.”

Jon’s hand opened around Elias’ wrist. A sudden urge to flee overcame him, to run away from what he knew was waiting on the other side of the wall. Perhaps he would have if Elias hadn’t tightened his grip in turn. Holding him through his panic as the desire, triumphant over his trepidation, to reach the centre welled up in him, to peer inside, to draw all there was to know from the place. Only then did Elias let go of him and read from the book again.

“ _Visibility, however, we must remember, depends not on distance but on circumstance; and there is no way in which a soul is more painfully and unwisely lost than in its suffering beyond the reach of the Eye_.”

The walls opened, and Jon remained rooted to the spot with indecision. At first glance, the place was simply barren, save for a raised stone slab in the middle, rectangular with edges that glinted sharply in the light. But he knew there was more. He could feel it, finally stepping closer, allowing himself to be drawn inside, how right it felt to be there, how invigorating. As if he was finally waking up from a dream that had lasted too long.

There were steps behind him. Hands on his shoulders, too gentle to shrug off as he would have been usually inclined to do. “You don’t need a torch in here, Jon.”

Jon nodded, switching it off. If anything, it was easier to see now, as if any source of light was merely a disturbance in this place where darkness couldn’t reach. Dust motes flittered through the air, no doubt disturbed by the shifting architecture, by their presence. The brickwork was more elegant, regular, no comparison to the uneven layers of differently-sized bricks outside.

“Nobody has been here in almost 200 years,” Elias said quietly. He guided Jon towards the stone slab. No. The _altar_.

“What can you tell me about this place, Jon?” Elias was whispering close to his ear, lips brushing against the shell as he spoke. Gooseflesh prickled on the back of Jon’s neck, and without a hint of protest, he let Elias raise his hand towards the stone. It was warm beneath his fingers. Smooth and utterly untouched by the dust, covered in carvings as delicate as a fingerprint. Containing answers to questions he had not even considered asking yet, written in a language he couldn’t decipher without conscious effort.

“This is where we will conduct the ritual,” Jon said. Catching himself. Blanching. “I mean-“

Elias spun him around, pushing him up against the edge of the altar. Jon tried to avert his gaze. But then he saw the way Elias looked at him – content. Proud. And through his eyes…

“Elias,” Jon breathed, reaching out, not sure whether to clutch or push. His fingers dug into Elias’ shoulders as his hands stroked down his side, thumbs briefly resting on the front of his hips before wandering lower. Gripping his hips and lifting him up onto the altar while Jon wound his arms around him in an embrace. Just to hold his balance – a lie that sounded unconvincing as he tested it out.

For the briefest moment, Jon wondered if Elias was committing an act of sacrilege, in some way. But when Elias lowered him onto the surface, leaning over him, he felt the familiar sensation of falling into the Eye. The feeling of completion, of being exactly where he was meant to be.

“That’s right,” Elias said against his lips. Holding Jon down as he tried to push himself up to meet him. “Do you want to know what it will be like?”

Jon acquiesced, and Elias finally closed the distance between them. Nothing but a gentle brush of lips, and even that had Jon shivering. Then Elias straightened up and started unbuttoning Jon’s shirt.

“It’s not something I can tell you, Jon,” he said, amused almost. “But I can show you.”

He made quick work of Jon’s clothes, fingers moving with skilled precision. If he lingered, it wasn’t out of indecision; it was only to caress, to set Jon’s nerves alight beneath his touch.

Jon shivered despite himself as he lay back down on the warm stone, bared before Elias. The fabric of his slacks was soft against Jon’s thighs as he stepped between Jon’s spread legs. But he made no move to continue, to do anything but rake his gaze over Jon’s body until he squirmed beneath his gaze and reached up to tug at his shirt, pull him closer to kiss him again.

Tenderness yielded to fervour. Elias’ lips were firm on his now, tongue pushing into his mouth, and Jon let him in willingly. His hands slid to Elias chest, fiddling with his buttons, when Elias broke the kiss and grabbed Jon’s wrists, pressing them down next to Jon’s head.

“During the ritual,” Elias said as he dipped down again to kiss him briefly, “the Archivist observes. And experiences.”

“And what do you do?” Compulsion came so naturally to him in this place, requiring only the lightest of tugs to draw out a response. And Elias let him, moaning quietly against his lips.

“I prepare you for the Rite.” He pressed down on Jon’s wrists briefly before letting go, circling Jon’s mouth with two fingers of his right hand before pushing inside, brushing languidly along his tongue. Coaxing soft sounds out of Jon, sounds he couldn’t suppress. And a part of him didn’t want to try, the part that enjoyed the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, that was so eager to give in; the part of him that wanted to resist was silent.

Saliva spilled down his chin when Elias pulled his fingers out again. His face heated in response, and only grew hotter when Elias stroked his other hand along his thigh before pushing it up towards his chest with a firm grip, and started to prepare him. Entering him with two fingers, and Jon’s hands briefly jumped to Elias shoulders again, before he quickly lowered them back onto the altar, trying to relax against the pain. 

“Very good, Jon,” Elias whispered against his lips, drinking in the sounds Jon made. “You’re taking this so well. You can take more, for me.”

He pushed in a third finger, Jon’s hips rising off the surface with tension, clenching around the pain, sinking down again when Elias found his prostate, drawing teasing circles around it that soothed his discomfort. Every tiniest movement was electric, sending waves of pleasure through his body. Soon, Jon found himself panting, sweat beading on his forehead. Begging.

“And then…” Elias trailed off, but there was no more need for words. He pulled his fingers out of Jon and freed his cock from his slacks, stroking its hard length with a saliva-slick palm as Jon watched, each passing second winding the tension inside him tighter and tighter.

He moaned in relief when Elias finally breached him, pushing until Jon’s body parted around him, took him to the hilt. His own impatience dulled the pain to simply another sensation that raised the heights of his pleasure, intensifying with every twitch of his muscles.

“Look at me, Jon,” he said, a gentle command, and Jon obeyed, unaware of when he’d closed his eyes.

“Elias,” he breathed. It was all he could say, and then not even that when Elias set the pace, fast, forceful movements that had Jon gasping with every trust. He let go of Jon’s leg in favour of gripping the edge of the altar, allowing Jon to hook his legs his around his waist to draw him closer. To his side, Jon could see Elias’s knuckles whitening with the force of his grip, and he wondered if the edge would draw blood from his palm. It sent an odd thrill through him, and he threw his arms around Elias’s neck, trying to pull him closer, close enough to kiss him again before their harsh breathing forced them apart once more.

And as Jon looked up, sight blurry with arousal, he could see the markings on the ceiling forming an eye. The ever-watching Eye, its pupil centred on them as it always was and forever would be, and then Jon saw past it, too. Past layers of concrete and debris, a swirl of thoughts and memories entering his mind, filling it with information, with knowledge, feeding that relentless hunger inside him.

Until a hand on his cheek brought him back to where he was, that small room that was all that was left of that monument to the Eye, and still, all it needed, all they needed. And when he looked at Elias, he saw worship, he saw possessiveness, and he knew that in that moment, it was mirrored in his own eyes. He didn’t look away as he turned just slightly to the side, lips brushing against Elias palm, and tasted copper and ink and secrets much older than either of them. Elias’ eyes fell shut first.

They did not move for a while after coming, simply catching their breath, Elias resting on top of him. Connected, still. 

“Never forget that you’re my Archivist, Jon.” Elias placed a kiss on his neck, with just a hint of teeth, a touch of tongue over where Jon’s pulse was still racing. “I chose you out of many vying for the position, and every day, you prove that I couldn’t have made a better choice.”

Jon already knew that he would return to this place, one day. Sooner than he thought, perhaps. To destroy it, perhaps. Or unable to bear the emptiness and isolation of the tunnels. Of the world outside this place. Of Elias’ absence. He wondered if he would be strong enough to refuse when Elias invited him down this path again, now that he had gotten a glimpse of what could be.

When they left the room, they closed it off again, leaving the delicate brickwork as undisturbed as it had been before. Or at least it was easier to believe that was the case in the light of the torch.

**Author's Note:**

> Contains altered snippets from John Ruskin's The Seven Lamps of Architecture (Project Gutenberg, public domain). 
> 
> These are the original quotes:
> 
> "And all were coming forth in clusters crowded for very love; there was room enough for all, but they crushed their leaves into all manner of strange shapes only to be nearer each other."
> 
> “But of them, and their life, and their toil upon the earth, one reward, one evidence, is left to us in those gray heaps of deep-wrought stone. They have taken with them to the grave their powers, their honors, and their errors; but they have left us their adoration.”
> 
> “Visibility, however, we must remember, depends, not only on situation, but on distance; and there is no way in which work is more painfully and unwisely lost than in its over delicacy on parts distant from the eye.”


End file.
